Legal Briefs
Page 6
“What in the hell was that, a Ninja?” he asked, looking over the railing.
“That was U. Hu, my neighbor,” I said breathlessly, still feeling the pins and needles from the adrenaline rush.
“You who?”
“The letter U and H-U. That’s what’s on his mailbox, anyway.” As we approached the third floor the angry voices of the people in apartment 301 traveled down the stairs.
“Yo Regina! You want some kind of friggin’ Prince Charming!”
“Prince Charming? Give me a break, Mario! I would settle for a guy who picked his friggin’ underwear up off the floor!”
“I call them the Sopranos,” I said to Adam as we reached the landing. The door to 302 suddenly flew open then and I heard a shriek, “Will the two of yous keep it down already?! You’re given’ me a f**kin’ headache!”
“Donna?” I called.
“Hey, Lil. Is that you, honey?”
I wasn’t really sure how old Donna was, forty, maybe even fifty? Let’s just say she was a bit past her first bloom, but in her younger days, she had allegedly been a famous beauty and had once held the coveted title of Miss Philly Cheesesteak. She walked out into the hallway. Donna often had a little nip in the evenings. Dressed in a pink terrycloth robe with a henna red wig in wild disarray, her mascara on her cheeks and her lipstick on her chin, she looked like she had been nipping for a while that night.
“How are you doing, Donna?” I asked, trying to be nice. She was after all, one of the friendliest neighbors I had. In fact, she was really friendly, especially to men. I had a feeling that’s how she made a living these days.
“Who’s the cutie pie?” she slurred, leering at Adam.
“This is Adam, my uh …Adam.”
“Well, hello there Adam my Adam,” she said flirtatiously. “Then she turned back to me with a conspiratorial smile. “I’m glad you finally found yourself a man, honey, and this one looks like he could make ya holler. Couldn’t you baby?” She winked at Adam and hacked out a three-pack-a-day cough.
“I’ll make sure she doesn’t holler too loudly.” I turned and gave him a deadly look.
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” she cackled. “He’s funny too. Too bad I got company comin’ or maybe I’d even come up and join yous!” She wiggled her drawn-on eyebrows suggestively.
“Well, okay then.” I smiled. “Have a good night.” I needed to not picture that. Ever.
“Good night, honey. Make sure he lets you go cowgirl!” I heard her smoker’s cough/laugh echo as she turned around and returned to her apartment.
“I sure will. Take care,” I called after her. We hadn’t gotten far when I heard the clunk of combat boots on the stairs and I knew Vixen, the tattoo artist with the nasty disposition, was on her way home. Just then, the Sopranos started yelling again.
“Hey! Can I get some friggin’ privacy, Mario?”
“Fuckin-A, Regina, why don’t you lock the friggin’ bathroom door?!”
“Hey!” came the shrill scream from the stairs as all five feet of Hurricane Vixen touched down. She was a real cutie with dreadlocks, her face pierced with about fifty pounds of metal, and more ink on her body than in the Sunday edition of the New York Times. “Are those two f**kheads fighting again?”
I didn’t answer. It seemed like a rhetorical question. As we watched, she stormed up to the Sopranos’ door and banged hard enough to make me wonder if she might put her fist through it. It flew open and there stood Mario himself, in all of his glory. Dressed in a wife beater t-shirt and greasy jeans that didn’t quite make it over Mount Beergut, Mario had as much hair on his chest as on his head.
“Yo! What you want, you nasty twat?!”
“What do you think I want, asshat? Shut the f**k up or I’m callin’ the cops again!”
Mario slammed the door in her face and she kicked it with one combat boot-clad foot, flashing us her faux leopard-skin G-string in the process. I turned and moved on. I could feel Adam trying not to laugh behind me as we climbed up the final flight of stairs. When we made it to my floor, I noticed a light bulb was also out in the hall now.
“Nice ambiance,” Adam commented. “Sets the mood for a mugging perfectly.”
“You’re a prosecutor. You have crime on the brain.”
I noticed movement up ahead, and to my surprise, I saw a tall guy I didn’t recognize opening up the door to 404, which had been vacant. I hadn’t realized anyone had moved in. He turned around, and seeing us, he put his head down quickly, opened his door and dove inside, slamming the door behind him. He would fit in here just fine, I decided.
The door next to his opened and out walked Herb, who was a customer service representative for The Southeastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority, as he liked to inform people on a regular basis. Herb was short, with glasses, auburn hair and pale skin. He was pretty nondescript other than that, the kind of guy nobody would notice. I was fairly sure that’s why SEPTA had hired him for customer service. I’m not sure, but I think Herb had a crush on me.
“Hello, Lily, how are you this evening?” Herb asked with a smile.
“I’m fine, Herb. How are you?”
“Well, the Trenton Line had signal problems and didn’t get on time to coordinate with New Jersey Transit, so there were some irate customers tonight.”
“Irate customers on SEPTA? When does that ever happen?” I teased.
“Oh! It happens all the time. You would be amazed!”
“I was kidding.”
“Oh, right! Ha!” He snorted. “Is that your boyfriend?”
“Nah, I just picked her up at a club,” Adam answered and I gave him a deadly look.
“Adam and I grew up together,” I said in an acid tone.
“Old friends, then, have a good night!” He turned and went back into his apartment.
I slid my key into the three deadbolts and the lock and let us in, flipping on the lights as we entered. We had finally run the gauntlet and made it to safety.
“What a fun building!” Adam said, turning to me.
“It’s not that bad,” I said defensively.
“Not that bad? You have to stand out on the street like a target to get the front door open,” he pointed out. “The elevator is broken and your stairwell is dark. So is your hallway, for that matter, and this really is a rough area. I just prosecuted a guy for an attempted murder that took place a block from here.”
“That was U. Hu, my neighbor,” I said breathlessly, still feeling the pins and needles from the adrenaline rush.
“You who?”
“The letter U and H-U. That’s what’s on his mailbox, anyway.” As we approached the third floor the angry voices of the people in apartment 301 traveled down the stairs.
“Yo Regina! You want some kind of friggin’ Prince Charming!”
“Prince Charming? Give me a break, Mario! I would settle for a guy who picked his friggin’ underwear up off the floor!”
“I call them the Sopranos,” I said to Adam as we reached the landing. The door to 302 suddenly flew open then and I heard a shriek, “Will the two of yous keep it down already?! You’re given’ me a f**kin’ headache!”
“Donna?” I called.
“Hey, Lil. Is that you, honey?”
I wasn’t really sure how old Donna was, forty, maybe even fifty? Let’s just say she was a bit past her first bloom, but in her younger days, she had allegedly been a famous beauty and had once held the coveted title of Miss Philly Cheesesteak. She walked out into the hallway. Donna often had a little nip in the evenings. Dressed in a pink terrycloth robe with a henna red wig in wild disarray, her mascara on her cheeks and her lipstick on her chin, she looked like she had been nipping for a while that night.
“How are you doing, Donna?” I asked, trying to be nice. She was after all, one of the friendliest neighbors I had. In fact, she was really friendly, especially to men. I had a feeling that’s how she made a living these days.
“Who’s the cutie pie?” she slurred, leering at Adam.
“This is Adam, my uh …Adam.”
“Well, hello there Adam my Adam,” she said flirtatiously. “Then she turned back to me with a conspiratorial smile. “I’m glad you finally found yourself a man, honey, and this one looks like he could make ya holler. Couldn’t you baby?” She winked at Adam and hacked out a three-pack-a-day cough.
“I’ll make sure she doesn’t holler too loudly.” I turned and gave him a deadly look.
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” she cackled. “He’s funny too. Too bad I got company comin’ or maybe I’d even come up and join yous!” She wiggled her drawn-on eyebrows suggestively.
“Well, okay then.” I smiled. “Have a good night.” I needed to not picture that. Ever.
“Good night, honey. Make sure he lets you go cowgirl!” I heard her smoker’s cough/laugh echo as she turned around and returned to her apartment.
“I sure will. Take care,” I called after her. We hadn’t gotten far when I heard the clunk of combat boots on the stairs and I knew Vixen, the tattoo artist with the nasty disposition, was on her way home. Just then, the Sopranos started yelling again.
“Hey! Can I get some friggin’ privacy, Mario?”
“Fuckin-A, Regina, why don’t you lock the friggin’ bathroom door?!”
“Hey!” came the shrill scream from the stairs as all five feet of Hurricane Vixen touched down. She was a real cutie with dreadlocks, her face pierced with about fifty pounds of metal, and more ink on her body than in the Sunday edition of the New York Times. “Are those two f**kheads fighting again?”
I didn’t answer. It seemed like a rhetorical question. As we watched, she stormed up to the Sopranos’ door and banged hard enough to make me wonder if she might put her fist through it. It flew open and there stood Mario himself, in all of his glory. Dressed in a wife beater t-shirt and greasy jeans that didn’t quite make it over Mount Beergut, Mario had as much hair on his chest as on his head.
“Yo! What you want, you nasty twat?!”
“What do you think I want, asshat? Shut the f**k up or I’m callin’ the cops again!”
Mario slammed the door in her face and she kicked it with one combat boot-clad foot, flashing us her faux leopard-skin G-string in the process. I turned and moved on. I could feel Adam trying not to laugh behind me as we climbed up the final flight of stairs. When we made it to my floor, I noticed a light bulb was also out in the hall now.
“Nice ambiance,” Adam commented. “Sets the mood for a mugging perfectly.”
“You’re a prosecutor. You have crime on the brain.”
I noticed movement up ahead, and to my surprise, I saw a tall guy I didn’t recognize opening up the door to 404, which had been vacant. I hadn’t realized anyone had moved in. He turned around, and seeing us, he put his head down quickly, opened his door and dove inside, slamming the door behind him. He would fit in here just fine, I decided.
The door next to his opened and out walked Herb, who was a customer service representative for The Southeastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority, as he liked to inform people on a regular basis. Herb was short, with glasses, auburn hair and pale skin. He was pretty nondescript other than that, the kind of guy nobody would notice. I was fairly sure that’s why SEPTA had hired him for customer service. I’m not sure, but I think Herb had a crush on me.
“Hello, Lily, how are you this evening?” Herb asked with a smile.
“I’m fine, Herb. How are you?”
“Well, the Trenton Line had signal problems and didn’t get on time to coordinate with New Jersey Transit, so there were some irate customers tonight.”
“Irate customers on SEPTA? When does that ever happen?” I teased.
“Oh! It happens all the time. You would be amazed!”
“I was kidding.”
“Oh, right! Ha!” He snorted. “Is that your boyfriend?”
“Nah, I just picked her up at a club,” Adam answered and I gave him a deadly look.
“Adam and I grew up together,” I said in an acid tone.
“Old friends, then, have a good night!” He turned and went back into his apartment.
I slid my key into the three deadbolts and the lock and let us in, flipping on the lights as we entered. We had finally run the gauntlet and made it to safety.
“What a fun building!” Adam said, turning to me.
“It’s not that bad,” I said defensively.
“Not that bad? You have to stand out on the street like a target to get the front door open,” he pointed out. “The elevator is broken and your stairwell is dark. So is your hallway, for that matter, and this really is a rough area. I just prosecuted a guy for an attempted murder that took place a block from here.”
